As the community has chosen to think about our ministry of reconciliation as neighbors in Chestnut Hill, we’ve looked to these passages to help anchor us in what solidarity, peace and humility could look like in our small Nashville neighborhood.
2 Corinthians 5:11-20
From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.
Acts 2: 5-13
Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.’ All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, ‘What does this mean?’ But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine.’
Ephesians 2:11-22
So then, remember that at one time you Gentiles by birth, called “the uncircumcision” by those who are called “the circumcision” —a physical circumcision made in the flesh by human hands— remember that you were at that time without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.
For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Monday, March 7, 2011
What's genocide?
I read this poem today, and it made me think. Thought I'd share.
their high school principal
told me I couldn’t teach
poetry with profanity
so I asked my students,
“Raise your hand if you’ve heard of the Holocaust.”
in unison, their arms rose up like poisonous gas
then straightened out like an SS infantry
“Okay. Please put your hands down.
Now raise your hand if you’ve heard of the Rwandan genocide.”
blank stares mixed with curious ignorance
a quivering hand out of the crowd
half-way raised, like a lone survivor
struggling to stand up in Kigali
“Luz, are you sure about that?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Carlos—what’s genocide?”
they won’t let you hear the truth at school
if that person says “fuck”
can’t even talk about “fuck”
even though a third of your senior class
is pregnant.
I can’t teach an 18-year-old girl in a public school
how to use a condom that will save her life
and that of the orphan she will be forced
to give to the foster care system—
“Carlos, how many 13-year-olds do you know that are HIV-positive?”
“Honestly, none. But I do visit a shelter every Monday and talk with
six 12-year-old girls with diagnosed AIDS.”
while 4th graders three blocks away give little boys blowjobs during recess
I met an 11-year-old gang member in the Bronx who carries
a semi-automatic weapon to study hall so he can make it home
and you want me to censor my language
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
your books leave out Emmett Till and Medgar Evers
call themselves “World History” and don’t mention
King Leopold or diamond mines
call themselves “Politics in the Modern World”
and don’t mention Apartheid
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
you wonder why children hide in adult bodies
lie under light-color-eyed contact lenses
learn to fetishize the size of their asses
and simultaneously hate their lips
my students thought Che Guevara was a rapper
from East Harlem
still think my Mumia t-shirt is of Bob Marley
how can literacy not include Phyllis Wheatley?
schools were built in the shadows of ghosts
filtered through incest and grinding teeth
molded under veils of extravagant ritual
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
“Roselyn, how old was she? Cuántos años tuvo tu madre cuando se murió?”
“My mother had 32 years when she died. Ella era bellísima.”
…what’s genocide?
they’ve moved from sterilizing “Boriqua” women
injecting indigenous sisters with Hepatitis B,
now they just kill mothers with silent poison
stain their loyalty and love into veins and suffocate them
…what’s genocide?
Ridwan’s father hung himself
in the box because he thought his son
was ashamed of him
…what’s genocide?
Maureen’s mother gave her
skin lightening cream
the day before she started the 6th grade
…what’s genocide?
she carves straight lines into her
beautiful brown thighs so she can remember
what it feels like to heal
…what’s genocide?
…what’s genocide?
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
“Luz, this…
this right here…
is genocide.”
- Carlos Andrés Gómez
their high school principal
told me I couldn’t teach
poetry with profanity
so I asked my students,
“Raise your hand if you’ve heard of the Holocaust.”
in unison, their arms rose up like poisonous gas
then straightened out like an SS infantry
“Okay. Please put your hands down.
Now raise your hand if you’ve heard of the Rwandan genocide.”
blank stares mixed with curious ignorance
a quivering hand out of the crowd
half-way raised, like a lone survivor
struggling to stand up in Kigali
“Luz, are you sure about that?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Carlos—what’s genocide?”
they won’t let you hear the truth at school
if that person says “fuck”
can’t even talk about “fuck”
even though a third of your senior class
is pregnant.
I can’t teach an 18-year-old girl in a public school
how to use a condom that will save her life
and that of the orphan she will be forced
to give to the foster care system—
“Carlos, how many 13-year-olds do you know that are HIV-positive?”
“Honestly, none. But I do visit a shelter every Monday and talk with
six 12-year-old girls with diagnosed AIDS.”
while 4th graders three blocks away give little boys blowjobs during recess
I met an 11-year-old gang member in the Bronx who carries
a semi-automatic weapon to study hall so he can make it home
and you want me to censor my language
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
your books leave out Emmett Till and Medgar Evers
call themselves “World History” and don’t mention
King Leopold or diamond mines
call themselves “Politics in the Modern World”
and don’t mention Apartheid
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
you wonder why children hide in adult bodies
lie under light-color-eyed contact lenses
learn to fetishize the size of their asses
and simultaneously hate their lips
my students thought Che Guevara was a rapper
from East Harlem
still think my Mumia t-shirt is of Bob Marley
how can literacy not include Phyllis Wheatley?
schools were built in the shadows of ghosts
filtered through incest and grinding teeth
molded under veils of extravagant ritual
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
“Roselyn, how old was she? Cuántos años tuvo tu madre cuando se murió?”
“My mother had 32 years when she died. Ella era bellísima.”
…what’s genocide?
they’ve moved from sterilizing “Boriqua” women
injecting indigenous sisters with Hepatitis B,
now they just kill mothers with silent poison
stain their loyalty and love into veins and suffocate them
…what’s genocide?
Ridwan’s father hung himself
in the box because he thought his son
was ashamed of him
…what’s genocide?
Maureen’s mother gave her
skin lightening cream
the day before she started the 6th grade
…what’s genocide?
she carves straight lines into her
beautiful brown thighs so she can remember
what it feels like to heal
…what’s genocide?
…what’s genocide?
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
“Luz, this…
this right here…
is genocide.”
- Carlos Andrés Gómez
Heaven, Earth and Our Place Within the Created Order
I recently watched the documentary: Jesus Camp. It centers on a group of children as they attend an Evangelical Christian Bible camp named “Kids on Fire” in North Dakota. There were many things that were surprisingly frightening about this documentary. Most of the surprise came from the congregation’s intentional perpetuation of the blurriness of the line separating the Church and the State. But, for me, the most striking idea was the over-arching obsession with the platonic, dualistic view of the physical/metaphysical world and the soul/body of the human being. This view is one originating from Plato’s philosophy, hundreds of years before Christ. He believed in a world, or realm into which our souls—apart from our bodies—ascend, after we die. He called it, “the world of forms”. We call it “Heaven”.
Although this idea was brought shockingly, visibly to the surface in this particular film, the idea of “Heaven” as a place for disembodied souls to dwell after death is one that most Christians hold to be true, today. I’m convinced that it is impossible to divorce our interpretation of what, or where heaven is from how it is that we live our lives daily—most profoundly in our care for, or our neglect of the earth.
Sometimes, I think theologians think that everyone sees the world how they do. It’s as if they think everyone just understands complex concepts like the immanent/economic Trinity, the true God/true man doctrine of Christ, the personification of evil in the Bible or any other of the myriad of topics they speak about with such certainty and profundity. Now, obviously, this isn’t true because if everyone understood it, there’d be no reason to write theology to explain it in the first place. But I think sometimes, within the academic community especially, we forget that our understanding, especially on the subject “Heaven”, is not the one held by the majority of Christians with whom we share blood.
A Google.com search of “heaven” produces about 226,000,000 results (in 0.08 seconds). The most dominant idea of Heaven in most of these articles is that it is a place that is radically separate from earth, in both time and space. We aren’t surprised by this idea. We’ve heard it all our lives. But why have we latched on to this particular idea? Its centuries after Plato first introduced this particular duality, but still, as a culture in the 21st century, we’re infatuated with it.
N.T. Wright comments on the “heavenly” belief that is dominating the church of today in his book, Surprised by Hope. “The roots of the misunderstanding go very deep, not least into the residual Platonism that has infected whole swaths of Christian thinking and has misled people into supposing that Christians are meant to devalue this present world and our present bodies and regard them as shabby or shameful”. This is huge. Though Plato’s concepts of the “world of forms”, and the “material world” are merely memories in modern and postmodern philosophy, it seems the loudest voices in present Christianity have yet to make the progression out of this restricting view.
In the church, we use the writings in the Bible as the main voices for questions pertaining to life, and the afterlife. The strange part of this heaven/earth mindset that we’ve adopted into our Christian vernacular is that it isn’t inherently biblical. “The essential problem with the visio Dei doctrine is that it comes from Plato, rather than the Bible…. Plato wants to know the truth as God knows it, and to know it he must escape the finite limits of his bodily existence…. The problem has to do with its basic Gnostic and world denying structure.” Something else that stuck out about Jesus Camp was the language used to describe the Earth. “How many of you know that this is a pretty sick old world?” The camp’s Children’s pastor, Becky, says this when talking about the Earth, alluding to our lack of attachment to it. Now, this could be taken one of two ways. First, we can hear this as a word of empowerment, and seek to be a means of grace and change and reconciliation to the world—as I hope Becky meant, in her heart. Or second, we can hear this and detach ourselves from this earthly existence and look to our “true home”, far above, in Heaven. More often than not the latter option is how this statement is perceived.
The implications of taking on this “Heavenly state of mind” are profound. If this place is not my home, if we’re all just packing up and going off to a place in the sky with streets of gold and pearly gates, then, why care for the earth now? This idea is not Christian.
It is not as though God created the world, then turned his back on it and floated back up into his land of divine splendor. No, God’s creating was an act of an opening within the divine life for reality other than the Trinity to exist. “…the world God creates is not a thing, a ‘cosmos,’ but is rather a history. God does not create a world that thereupon has a history; he creates a history that is a world…” There are not two distinct realms, which contain in one: God, and in the other: the world. No, “God is present to his creation, not as the God of the stoics, but as a free agent sustaining his creature”.
Genesis chapter one tells the story of God creating. “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.” “…God’s judgment that the creature is good belongs to the story of creation itself; creatures exist in that God determines that they are good.” The Hebrew word for “good” here is “tov” meaning “appropriate” or “becoming” or “good for…” “Thus according to Genesis, creatures exist in that God finds them good for his purpose with them—which of course means that he does have a purpose with them.” If we believe that this world doesn’t matter because ultimately, God is destroying it, and taking us to clean, bright, shiny Heaven, then how can we possibly say we believe Creation is good? We can’t claim to believe both of these things. And if we believe that God is destroying this “sick, old world” then we have to ask the question: “does God really love his creation?”
It seems that more often than not, this question is answered like this, “…God loves humanity. The rest of the world is simply subservient to humans—there for our use and if the need (or want) arises, our abuse”. But in the second creation story in Genesis, we are better told our responsibility as humans living on the Earth.
“…we are gardeners of someone else’s garden. We are to tend our area of creation on behalf of the Creator to whom it continues to belong, taking our own subsistence from his generosity; the ecclesially much abused word ‘stewardship’ here perfectly fits the case. Nothing could be more opposed to exploitive modernity’s understanding of the world as a conglomerate of ‘natural resources’ available for our use as we feel a need and technology enables.”
This is not something to be taken lightly. The fights against awareness on issues like climate change, the food industry, population extinction, and pollution are battles in which many, many Christians are involved. Too often, these concerns are passed over by Christians who claim they are purely political topics pushed by hotheaded democrats who just want to tax us more, and push their radical hippy agendas. But, as Steve Green said so strongly in a talk at the Nazarene conference, Mission11: “…creation care is not liberal; it’s Biblical”.
An abundance of articles and research has shown us how our careless consumption is contributing to rising co2 levels, the melting of polar ice caps, extinction due to overhunting and overfishing, and depletion of natural resources. I will not belabor these points with facts and figures. There are plenty of papers on that, already. But I will say that we use more than we need. I will say that we act in utter disregard of our impact on future generations. I will say that we are not heeding to the command set forth to us in Genesis to be good stewards of the earth.
When we abuse the earth and force it to produce more than it was designed to produce, when we destroy whole forests to support our need to expand, when we gluttonously overeat with disregard for the fact that these species rely on each other to survive, we are forgoing our place in the created order. “The ecological crisis at the end of self-emancipating modernity may be understood as a reminder that the God of the Bible remains Lord of his Creation.” We are given a place within creation. We are to respect it, and honor it. In stepping outside our place, we are attempting to cross the line of creature and claim we are more than humble humans. When, in truth, this is all we are intended to be—and it is a goal, not a natural accident of our existence.
The question, “What does it mean to be human?” has been tirelessly argued for centuries. I ask it no more nuanced, and with no more novelty than those who have asked it before. But our answer to this question has too often been to elevate humanity far above all else in such a way that we lord ourselves over all other creation. We are not radically other. We are animals. But we are the animals that pray. We are those animals given the ability, and the will to freely respond to the call to be faithful put forth to us by God. We are called to be righteous, to be in right relationship—both with God, and with Earth. Righteousness is not simply reading the Bible, attending church services, not drinking, not smoking, not blah, blah, blah. It is so much more than that. It is about accepting the call to live the better, more fruitful life, in which every aspect is a response to the question, “what does it mean to be faithful to God?” We have to ask this question.
Too often Christianity is seen as this thing we do on Sundays, with our like-minded friends. Too often Christ-likeness means “peace of mind”, but not peace between people, or between nations. Too often it is a box that we check that lets people know we’re “one of those” that will argue irrationally about issues like abortion, war, gun control, or prayer in schools. Too often, it is an excuse to be lazy, indifferent, uneducated and unthinking about issues in the here and now, like creation care, because our real lives lie in Heaven, anyway. Too often, Christians are just a lot of talk. I don’t think this is what we were meant to be. I think we are called to BE in right relation, not just talk about it.
The call to righteousness is the call to live simply—which may mean actually changing how we actually live. I have a friend who is selling his truck in an effort to limit his fuel emissions and share transportation with his community. Another has severely limited her consumption of foods not grown locally or organically. Though the cost is great, this is an effort to aid in both the care of the earth, and the care of her body. Others have stopped buying new clothes for the purpose of not personally perpetuating unjust labor and astronomical factory emissions. Others are boycotting places like Wal-Mart and McDonalds, which use unjust means—like sweat shops and genetic engineering of food—to produce and sell their products. Still others are taking to doing simple things like recycling, composting, limiting uses of harsh chemicals that the earth can’t digest, or simply gardening. All of these are steps to reclaiming the title of “good steward” given to us that we’ve thrown senselessly into dumpsters all across the world.
This paper is difficult to conclude, because this is so much yet to say. For example, “if this view of Heaven is detrimental, what is a view that isn’t?” Or, “Why are we aiding in protecting and sustaining the earth?” “What is the earth’s ultimate destiny?” “What do statements like, ‘bodily resurrection’ mean for us today, and ultimately?” I hope to explore and develop possible responses for these questions in the future. But the simple conclusion I have come to is this: In a sense, we have to live for today. We have to be in our home. We were created here; we belong here. We are to be peacemakers, and reconcilers—not just among people, but among the rest of creation too. We are given a unique mission, “…let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth and over all the creatures that move along the ground." And though we are tempted to lord this over those whom we are given responsibility that is what the rulers of the world do. We are Christ followers. It shall not be so among us. We belong in the created order. We depend on it, and it depends on us.
“There is sufficiency in the world for mans need, but not for man’s greed.”
Mohandas K. Gandhi
Although this idea was brought shockingly, visibly to the surface in this particular film, the idea of “Heaven” as a place for disembodied souls to dwell after death is one that most Christians hold to be true, today. I’m convinced that it is impossible to divorce our interpretation of what, or where heaven is from how it is that we live our lives daily—most profoundly in our care for, or our neglect of the earth.
Sometimes, I think theologians think that everyone sees the world how they do. It’s as if they think everyone just understands complex concepts like the immanent/economic Trinity, the true God/true man doctrine of Christ, the personification of evil in the Bible or any other of the myriad of topics they speak about with such certainty and profundity. Now, obviously, this isn’t true because if everyone understood it, there’d be no reason to write theology to explain it in the first place. But I think sometimes, within the academic community especially, we forget that our understanding, especially on the subject “Heaven”, is not the one held by the majority of Christians with whom we share blood.
A Google.com search of “heaven” produces about 226,000,000 results (in 0.08 seconds). The most dominant idea of Heaven in most of these articles is that it is a place that is radically separate from earth, in both time and space. We aren’t surprised by this idea. We’ve heard it all our lives. But why have we latched on to this particular idea? Its centuries after Plato first introduced this particular duality, but still, as a culture in the 21st century, we’re infatuated with it.
N.T. Wright comments on the “heavenly” belief that is dominating the church of today in his book, Surprised by Hope. “The roots of the misunderstanding go very deep, not least into the residual Platonism that has infected whole swaths of Christian thinking and has misled people into supposing that Christians are meant to devalue this present world and our present bodies and regard them as shabby or shameful”. This is huge. Though Plato’s concepts of the “world of forms”, and the “material world” are merely memories in modern and postmodern philosophy, it seems the loudest voices in present Christianity have yet to make the progression out of this restricting view.
In the church, we use the writings in the Bible as the main voices for questions pertaining to life, and the afterlife. The strange part of this heaven/earth mindset that we’ve adopted into our Christian vernacular is that it isn’t inherently biblical. “The essential problem with the visio Dei doctrine is that it comes from Plato, rather than the Bible…. Plato wants to know the truth as God knows it, and to know it he must escape the finite limits of his bodily existence…. The problem has to do with its basic Gnostic and world denying structure.” Something else that stuck out about Jesus Camp was the language used to describe the Earth. “How many of you know that this is a pretty sick old world?” The camp’s Children’s pastor, Becky, says this when talking about the Earth, alluding to our lack of attachment to it. Now, this could be taken one of two ways. First, we can hear this as a word of empowerment, and seek to be a means of grace and change and reconciliation to the world—as I hope Becky meant, in her heart. Or second, we can hear this and detach ourselves from this earthly existence and look to our “true home”, far above, in Heaven. More often than not the latter option is how this statement is perceived.
The implications of taking on this “Heavenly state of mind” are profound. If this place is not my home, if we’re all just packing up and going off to a place in the sky with streets of gold and pearly gates, then, why care for the earth now? This idea is not Christian.
It is not as though God created the world, then turned his back on it and floated back up into his land of divine splendor. No, God’s creating was an act of an opening within the divine life for reality other than the Trinity to exist. “…the world God creates is not a thing, a ‘cosmos,’ but is rather a history. God does not create a world that thereupon has a history; he creates a history that is a world…” There are not two distinct realms, which contain in one: God, and in the other: the world. No, “God is present to his creation, not as the God of the stoics, but as a free agent sustaining his creature”.
Genesis chapter one tells the story of God creating. “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.” “…God’s judgment that the creature is good belongs to the story of creation itself; creatures exist in that God determines that they are good.” The Hebrew word for “good” here is “tov” meaning “appropriate” or “becoming” or “good for…” “Thus according to Genesis, creatures exist in that God finds them good for his purpose with them—which of course means that he does have a purpose with them.” If we believe that this world doesn’t matter because ultimately, God is destroying it, and taking us to clean, bright, shiny Heaven, then how can we possibly say we believe Creation is good? We can’t claim to believe both of these things. And if we believe that God is destroying this “sick, old world” then we have to ask the question: “does God really love his creation?”
It seems that more often than not, this question is answered like this, “…God loves humanity. The rest of the world is simply subservient to humans—there for our use and if the need (or want) arises, our abuse”. But in the second creation story in Genesis, we are better told our responsibility as humans living on the Earth.
“…we are gardeners of someone else’s garden. We are to tend our area of creation on behalf of the Creator to whom it continues to belong, taking our own subsistence from his generosity; the ecclesially much abused word ‘stewardship’ here perfectly fits the case. Nothing could be more opposed to exploitive modernity’s understanding of the world as a conglomerate of ‘natural resources’ available for our use as we feel a need and technology enables.”
This is not something to be taken lightly. The fights against awareness on issues like climate change, the food industry, population extinction, and pollution are battles in which many, many Christians are involved. Too often, these concerns are passed over by Christians who claim they are purely political topics pushed by hotheaded democrats who just want to tax us more, and push their radical hippy agendas. But, as Steve Green said so strongly in a talk at the Nazarene conference, Mission11: “…creation care is not liberal; it’s Biblical”.
An abundance of articles and research has shown us how our careless consumption is contributing to rising co2 levels, the melting of polar ice caps, extinction due to overhunting and overfishing, and depletion of natural resources. I will not belabor these points with facts and figures. There are plenty of papers on that, already. But I will say that we use more than we need. I will say that we act in utter disregard of our impact on future generations. I will say that we are not heeding to the command set forth to us in Genesis to be good stewards of the earth.
When we abuse the earth and force it to produce more than it was designed to produce, when we destroy whole forests to support our need to expand, when we gluttonously overeat with disregard for the fact that these species rely on each other to survive, we are forgoing our place in the created order. “The ecological crisis at the end of self-emancipating modernity may be understood as a reminder that the God of the Bible remains Lord of his Creation.” We are given a place within creation. We are to respect it, and honor it. In stepping outside our place, we are attempting to cross the line of creature and claim we are more than humble humans. When, in truth, this is all we are intended to be—and it is a goal, not a natural accident of our existence.
The question, “What does it mean to be human?” has been tirelessly argued for centuries. I ask it no more nuanced, and with no more novelty than those who have asked it before. But our answer to this question has too often been to elevate humanity far above all else in such a way that we lord ourselves over all other creation. We are not radically other. We are animals. But we are the animals that pray. We are those animals given the ability, and the will to freely respond to the call to be faithful put forth to us by God. We are called to be righteous, to be in right relationship—both with God, and with Earth. Righteousness is not simply reading the Bible, attending church services, not drinking, not smoking, not blah, blah, blah. It is so much more than that. It is about accepting the call to live the better, more fruitful life, in which every aspect is a response to the question, “what does it mean to be faithful to God?” We have to ask this question.
Too often Christianity is seen as this thing we do on Sundays, with our like-minded friends. Too often Christ-likeness means “peace of mind”, but not peace between people, or between nations. Too often it is a box that we check that lets people know we’re “one of those” that will argue irrationally about issues like abortion, war, gun control, or prayer in schools. Too often, it is an excuse to be lazy, indifferent, uneducated and unthinking about issues in the here and now, like creation care, because our real lives lie in Heaven, anyway. Too often, Christians are just a lot of talk. I don’t think this is what we were meant to be. I think we are called to BE in right relation, not just talk about it.
The call to righteousness is the call to live simply—which may mean actually changing how we actually live. I have a friend who is selling his truck in an effort to limit his fuel emissions and share transportation with his community. Another has severely limited her consumption of foods not grown locally or organically. Though the cost is great, this is an effort to aid in both the care of the earth, and the care of her body. Others have stopped buying new clothes for the purpose of not personally perpetuating unjust labor and astronomical factory emissions. Others are boycotting places like Wal-Mart and McDonalds, which use unjust means—like sweat shops and genetic engineering of food—to produce and sell their products. Still others are taking to doing simple things like recycling, composting, limiting uses of harsh chemicals that the earth can’t digest, or simply gardening. All of these are steps to reclaiming the title of “good steward” given to us that we’ve thrown senselessly into dumpsters all across the world.
This paper is difficult to conclude, because this is so much yet to say. For example, “if this view of Heaven is detrimental, what is a view that isn’t?” Or, “Why are we aiding in protecting and sustaining the earth?” “What is the earth’s ultimate destiny?” “What do statements like, ‘bodily resurrection’ mean for us today, and ultimately?” I hope to explore and develop possible responses for these questions in the future. But the simple conclusion I have come to is this: In a sense, we have to live for today. We have to be in our home. We were created here; we belong here. We are to be peacemakers, and reconcilers—not just among people, but among the rest of creation too. We are given a unique mission, “…let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth and over all the creatures that move along the ground." And though we are tempted to lord this over those whom we are given responsibility that is what the rulers of the world do. We are Christ followers. It shall not be so among us. We belong in the created order. We depend on it, and it depends on us.
“There is sufficiency in the world for mans need, but not for man’s greed.”
Mohandas K. Gandhi
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Gungor / Entitlement / Justice
If you haven't ever listened to Gungor, it's about time you start. They're marketed as "Christian" but don't let that scare you off. They don't believe in sacrificing musical talent as an excuse to better sell more pointless, shallow bullshit. They're GOOD. The funny thing is, too, they say a lot of things that would rub most of the American Church the wrong way. (I.e. They believe that God and America are not interchangeable words. It's not exactly a popular idea around these parts.) So, it's almost as though maybe they are prophesying to the American Church, and should remain in the Christian market. Hmm...
ANYWAY, all that to say... their "Beautiful Things" album is one of the best works of art I've ever heard. Here are the lyrics to one of their songs. Called "God is not a White Man". It raised a lot of hell. People were accusing Gungor of claiming God is Love. Oh. My. Gosh. Where do they get this CrAaAazy stuff??!!?
God is not a man, God is not a white man
God is not a man sitting on a cloud
God cannot be bought, God will not be boxed in
God will not be owned by religion
God is love, God is love
And He loves everyone
God is not a man, God is not an old man
God does not belong to Republicans
God is not a flag, not even American
God does not depend on a government
God is good, God is good, and He loves everyone
Atheists and charlatans, Communists and lesbians
And even ol’ Pat Roberston, Oh God He loves us all
Catholic or protestant, Terrorist or president
Everybody, everybody
Love, love, love, love
K, me again. I think everyone gets all mad at stuff like this because we don't like the idea that people who "don't deserve it" or "are bad" or who "don't work hard" get the same treatment that we do. We're like, "What the crap, God!? You love THEM too? I'm the one who tithes! I'm the one who reads my bible every day! I'm the one who never drinks, smokes or swears! I'm doing all this work, and you love that person!?"
The weird thing is though, Jesus is all the time doing stuff like that. I mean, he tells that story of the lost son. And I mean, that younger son was super selfish and terrible. He was greedy and manipulative. All the while his older son was faithfully devoted to his father and never ran away from home, squandering his inheritance. But then, what does that father do? He welcomes the dirty, pig-smelling boy back as if he had never left! And the older, faithful brother is angry! (Luke 15:11-32) But that's the thing.... Jesus says stuff like this all the time! Remember that whole.... "tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the Kingdom before you" thing? (matt. 21:31)
I think we love and choose to live our lives in faithful devotion because, if we're truly Jesus followers, that's the only way we know how to BE Jesus followers. It happens organically. You don't have to tell a flower to look pretty and to smell nice. It just does, because it is being a flower. If we're doing all the great, faithful, devoted stuff just for fire insurance, or just to make sure we can say we're "christian" or just cause we are afraid to think otherwise then.... we're manipulative idolaters. We're Baal worshippers.
It doesn't matter if we're the only ones doing it right. It doesn't matter if we "deserve" it. God loves all of us--even Ol' ... Rush Limbaugh.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Reflections on M11
I return from the M11 conference with a heavy, but hopeful heart. Us kids were pushed through the wringer. It's amazing really. M11 was like pulling up a damp log to see all the worms and crawling critters wriggling beneath. M11 unearthed all the underlying tensions festering beneath the title of "The Church of the Nazarene"--most of which, I was completely ignorant to. On the one hand, we went to services that I could best describe as "moralistic, therapeutic deism" and... unbridled charismatic sensationalism. (These services left us most of us either extremely bored, or extremely confused.) But on the other hand, most of us went to sessions during the day that were enlightening, prophetic and educational. It was a roller coaster. In the services, I felt like an nihilistic cynic, and in the sessions, I felt like a wide-eyed, hopeful disciple.
My friend Matt wrote a bit about what he felt in one of the services in the morning. There was a speaker named Dan Bohi who claims he recieved a call on his life to preach. He is a layperson from Kansas who reads the bible through every 30 days. Here's an excerpt of what Matt thought about his service.
"...there was mass confusion among students and faculties from several Nazarene Universities as well as pastors because many pastors appeared to be responding to the words and methods that seemed incongruent with the tradition, history, theology, and practices of the Church of the Nazarene. Many found themselves skeptical and disconnected from the proceedings of the session, only to have this skepticism and disconnection compounded when they saw some of their own clergy responding during the session.
"Many found themselves skeptical of Bohi’s claims that education was unnecessary and irrelevant, even a hindrance to the work of God through the Holy Spirit. He claimed that organization, planning, and preparation were useless declaring they disallow the 'Holy Spirit to move.'
"Bohi, for approximately 2½ hours, strung together verse after verse of scripture, a practice many would call ‘proof texting’. During his speech, over and over again, he presented irrational, illogical, irresponsible propositions and illustrations, claiming that the church had disfigured the Holy Spirit. Bohi’s use of scripture amounted to simply reading and regurgitating single verses with no regard to cultural, linguistic, literary, or historical context.
"Bohi’s presentation was, to many, a display of what the Church of the Nazarene has clearly opposed. He claimed to heal people by calling them forward so he could touch them. Within 24 hours he claimed that people had been ‘delivered’ from conditions such as fibromyalgia and sleep apnea which are two very complex disorders that take an extended period of time to render either positive or negative diagnoses.
"Nevertheless, in response to the plenary session there was/is a lot of conversation. Students, pastors, and professors are wondering how to respond are asking: “Is this the direction the Church of the Nazarene is headed?” or “Is there room, then, in the Church of the Nazarene for me?” Maybe the most significant question on the minds of many is “Will I find any clarity amidst the confusion?”
Okay, so I posted a lot, but he said it so well, I felt like I had to. Now, I know y'all weren't there, and with the exception of one session of Dan Bohi, neither was I. But this service brought to life many issues many of us are struggling with--biblical interpretation, healing, charismatic worship, and frankly corporate worship as a whole. All of these sort of culminated with this one message.
After a group of about 30 of us talked --professors and students from TNU, MVNU, ONU-- we rested on this fact: The Spirit of God moves. So, while I asked the question, "what if this great response isn't from God?" I have to immediately respond with, "God works despite our fallible, individualistic attempts to explain or manipulate him."
I think the pastors and people affected by that services, and others like it were so affected because they're hungry. They're broken, scared, and burning for community. They need to feel like they aren't alone. And that night, amidst the confusion and concern, these pastors wrapped their arms around one another. They shared, they were open, and they knew what it was to bear life in solidarity together. And THAT is beautiful.
All this to say: I am still confused. It's a day later, and all of us are still exhaustedly wrestling with the issues raised at this conference. But I believe God is working. I believe we are learning. And after M11 I walk around this campus and look in the eyes of the people who were there crying with me, confessing with me, and correcting me and feel as though we are bearing life in solidarity with one another. I think this is part of what it means to be the church.
My friend Matt wrote a bit about what he felt in one of the services in the morning. There was a speaker named Dan Bohi who claims he recieved a call on his life to preach. He is a layperson from Kansas who reads the bible through every 30 days. Here's an excerpt of what Matt thought about his service.
"...there was mass confusion among students and faculties from several Nazarene Universities as well as pastors because many pastors appeared to be responding to the words and methods that seemed incongruent with the tradition, history, theology, and practices of the Church of the Nazarene. Many found themselves skeptical and disconnected from the proceedings of the session, only to have this skepticism and disconnection compounded when they saw some of their own clergy responding during the session.
"Many found themselves skeptical of Bohi’s claims that education was unnecessary and irrelevant, even a hindrance to the work of God through the Holy Spirit. He claimed that organization, planning, and preparation were useless declaring they disallow the 'Holy Spirit to move.'
"Bohi, for approximately 2½ hours, strung together verse after verse of scripture, a practice many would call ‘proof texting’. During his speech, over and over again, he presented irrational, illogical, irresponsible propositions and illustrations, claiming that the church had disfigured the Holy Spirit. Bohi’s use of scripture amounted to simply reading and regurgitating single verses with no regard to cultural, linguistic, literary, or historical context.
"Bohi’s presentation was, to many, a display of what the Church of the Nazarene has clearly opposed. He claimed to heal people by calling them forward so he could touch them. Within 24 hours he claimed that people had been ‘delivered’ from conditions such as fibromyalgia and sleep apnea which are two very complex disorders that take an extended period of time to render either positive or negative diagnoses.
"Nevertheless, in response to the plenary session there was/is a lot of conversation. Students, pastors, and professors are wondering how to respond are asking: “Is this the direction the Church of the Nazarene is headed?” or “Is there room, then, in the Church of the Nazarene for me?” Maybe the most significant question on the minds of many is “Will I find any clarity amidst the confusion?”
Okay, so I posted a lot, but he said it so well, I felt like I had to. Now, I know y'all weren't there, and with the exception of one session of Dan Bohi, neither was I. But this service brought to life many issues many of us are struggling with--biblical interpretation, healing, charismatic worship, and frankly corporate worship as a whole. All of these sort of culminated with this one message.
After a group of about 30 of us talked --professors and students from TNU, MVNU, ONU-- we rested on this fact: The Spirit of God moves. So, while I asked the question, "what if this great response isn't from God?" I have to immediately respond with, "God works despite our fallible, individualistic attempts to explain or manipulate him."
I think the pastors and people affected by that services, and others like it were so affected because they're hungry. They're broken, scared, and burning for community. They need to feel like they aren't alone. And that night, amidst the confusion and concern, these pastors wrapped their arms around one another. They shared, they were open, and they knew what it was to bear life in solidarity together. And THAT is beautiful.
All this to say: I am still confused. It's a day later, and all of us are still exhaustedly wrestling with the issues raised at this conference. But I believe God is working. I believe we are learning. And after M11 I walk around this campus and look in the eyes of the people who were there crying with me, confessing with me, and correcting me and feel as though we are bearing life in solidarity with one another. I think this is part of what it means to be the church.
Monday, February 21, 2011
M11 -- Questions
I'm currently at a conference called "Mission 11". It's a Nazarene conference... and... well, I know it's in a giant hotel/convention center and that's about the extent of my knowledge. Anyway, I'm here, in Louisville, KY for 3 days of sessions, services and speakers. It is immensely trying. Anyway, sparing you the length and depth of my thoughts of the matter, I'll simply present some questions on my mind.
1. Why is education of the laity not a primary concern in the Nazarene church (or the Church as a whole)?
2. Why is missions almost always talked about in reference to something overseas?
3. Why are we so afraid to question what we've always believed?
4. Why when something radically new is presented to us do we, more often than not, assume it is wrong, or unhealthily motivated?
5. Why do we talk about Jesus SO MUCH, but hardly emphasize his teachings, his prophecy, or his way of life?
That's just some stuff I'm thinking now... More will inevitably follow.
1. Why is education of the laity not a primary concern in the Nazarene church (or the Church as a whole)?
2. Why is missions almost always talked about in reference to something overseas?
3. Why are we so afraid to question what we've always believed?
4. Why when something radically new is presented to us do we, more often than not, assume it is wrong, or unhealthily motivated?
5. Why do we talk about Jesus SO MUCH, but hardly emphasize his teachings, his prophecy, or his way of life?
That's just some stuff I'm thinking now... More will inevitably follow.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
I hate all your show.
My first response when reading Amos was that I felt like it had been severely overlooked by the churches of today. I had never read Amos until recently—now I know why. It’s not as though Churches are itching to teach on something that could in fact call everything they do into question. When Amos says in Ch. 5,
21 “I hate, I despise your religious festivals;
your assemblies are a stench to me.
22 Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings,
I will not accept them.
Though you bring choice fellowship offerings,
I will have no regard for them.
23 Away with the noise of your songs!
I will not listen to the music of your harps.
24 But let justice roll on like a river,
righteousness like a never-failing stream!
It makes me feel like someone gets it. I know I probably shouldn’t feel like that because this was written centuries before I was even thought of, but I feel like Amos would be happy that’s what I felt when reading this. I’ve been raised in churches that care SO MUCH about their worship. They raise their hands, they pray their long, long prayers, and they recite scripture from memory and tell everyone to do the same. But outside of the context of the building where this takes place, they head back into jobs that they hate—that produce nothing, and benefit few at the expense of many. They angrily complain about proposed legislation that may force them to give people who don’t deserve it, while bragging about their tithes to the church. They buy things from places that though they advertise low prices… the cost of making them “low” is the quality of life of people around the globe who suffer under the thumb of bosses forcing them to work long hours for little pay. They happily buy bigger, more expensive cars that rape the earth and push them further into debt. Then, on SUNDAY—the “Lord’s day”—everything changes. Suddenly they’re weeping, praying, model Christians. And if EVER someone says something about all this, that person gets called a “bleeding heart liberal”. (Yes, this happens to me.)
“I hate all your show!” Amos gets it.
INSTEAD. Let there be a flood of justice! An endless procession of right relationship! Instead of haughty words and “humble” giving, why don’t we care about the world OUTSIDE of the church! Why don’t we care about our place, and our effects in this world! How can we possibly justify raising our hands in worship while simultaneously being agents of oppression!
Jon Foreman said it well in his song, “Instead of a Show”…
I hate all your show and pretense
The hypocrisy of your praise
The hypocrisy of your festivals
I hate all your show
Away with your noisy worship
Away with your noisy hymns
I stomp on my ears when you're singing 'em
I hate all your show
Instead let there be a flood of justice
An endless procession of righteous living, living
Instead let there be a flood of justice
Instead of a show
Your eyes are closed when you're praying
You sing right along with the band
You shine up your shoes for services
There's blood on your hands
You turned your back on the homeless
And the ones that don't fit in your plan
Quit playing religion games
There's blood on your hands
Let's argue this out
If your sins are blood red
Let's argue this out
You'll be one of the clouds
Let's argue this out
Quit fooling around
Give love to the ones who can't love at all
Give hope to the ones who got no hope at all
Stand up for the ones who can't stand at all, all
I hate all your show
We need to learn to pray for prophecy. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it makes us feel convicted and makes us feel like we’re wrong. YES, it may call us to change things in our life. But I think the road to faithfulness calls us to just this: A flood of justice—instead of a show.
I hate all your show.
21 “I hate, I despise your religious festivals;
your assemblies are a stench to me.
22 Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings,
I will not accept them.
Though you bring choice fellowship offerings,
I will have no regard for them.
23 Away with the noise of your songs!
I will not listen to the music of your harps.
24 But let justice roll on like a river,
righteousness like a never-failing stream!
It makes me feel like someone gets it. I know I probably shouldn’t feel like that because this was written centuries before I was even thought of, but I feel like Amos would be happy that’s what I felt when reading this. I’ve been raised in churches that care SO MUCH about their worship. They raise their hands, they pray their long, long prayers, and they recite scripture from memory and tell everyone to do the same. But outside of the context of the building where this takes place, they head back into jobs that they hate—that produce nothing, and benefit few at the expense of many. They angrily complain about proposed legislation that may force them to give people who don’t deserve it, while bragging about their tithes to the church. They buy things from places that though they advertise low prices… the cost of making them “low” is the quality of life of people around the globe who suffer under the thumb of bosses forcing them to work long hours for little pay. They happily buy bigger, more expensive cars that rape the earth and push them further into debt. Then, on SUNDAY—the “Lord’s day”—everything changes. Suddenly they’re weeping, praying, model Christians. And if EVER someone says something about all this, that person gets called a “bleeding heart liberal”. (Yes, this happens to me.)
“I hate all your show!” Amos gets it.
INSTEAD. Let there be a flood of justice! An endless procession of right relationship! Instead of haughty words and “humble” giving, why don’t we care about the world OUTSIDE of the church! Why don’t we care about our place, and our effects in this world! How can we possibly justify raising our hands in worship while simultaneously being agents of oppression!
Jon Foreman said it well in his song, “Instead of a Show”…
I hate all your show and pretense
The hypocrisy of your praise
The hypocrisy of your festivals
I hate all your show
Away with your noisy worship
Away with your noisy hymns
I stomp on my ears when you're singing 'em
I hate all your show
Instead let there be a flood of justice
An endless procession of righteous living, living
Instead let there be a flood of justice
Instead of a show
Your eyes are closed when you're praying
You sing right along with the band
You shine up your shoes for services
There's blood on your hands
You turned your back on the homeless
And the ones that don't fit in your plan
Quit playing religion games
There's blood on your hands
Let's argue this out
If your sins are blood red
Let's argue this out
You'll be one of the clouds
Let's argue this out
Quit fooling around
Give love to the ones who can't love at all
Give hope to the ones who got no hope at all
Stand up for the ones who can't stand at all, all
I hate all your show
We need to learn to pray for prophecy. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it makes us feel convicted and makes us feel like we’re wrong. YES, it may call us to change things in our life. But I think the road to faithfulness calls us to just this: A flood of justice—instead of a show.
I hate all your show.
Friday, February 11, 2011
To the one who feels like no one understands,
Remember the other day, when I said "if you're happy, you're doing something wrong"? Well, I keep thinking about that. And I think that's your problem. I think that’s the problem of anyone trying to be faithful. I think if you're honestly trying to be faithful, you look at the world with all of its brokenness, all of its injustice, and all of the loud angry people who swear they're doing it right, and you can't help but lament. And when you try to explain it, you get upset. Or the words come out wrong. Or you criticize the person, and not the problem. And it leaves you standing in the caf arguing because you can't get your friend to understand what you're trying to say, and that it isn't about him. I think when you are honestly trying to be faithful, you see that more often then not, the Church is not happening within the institution of the church. Prophesy is not being spoken. And this "moralistic, therapeutic Deism" is screaming that its the Kingdom of God, but you know that can't be it. And you think "why the hell am I living here and being concerned about my stuff and not sharing all things in common like I think we are called to?!" It's disheartening and frustrating, to say the least.
Today I learned that even though I say things about fighting the powers, and fighting injustice, and seeking peace, and all that good stuff... I'm missing a huge part. I forget to give grace to people that I don't see giving grace. And I forget to be friends with people that annoy me. And I forget those simple "love your neighbor" things. And then, I feel like one of those religion majors that thinks they've figured it out. I still need to learn to ask for humility. And remember that.... we're all just trying to figure it out, and we all have a lot to learn. And that is painful.
But I don't want to give up on joy. I think if we lose sight of that, then there too, we're doing something wrong. In the midst of "trying to figure it out", we have to remember that we aren't alone. There are people that "get it". There are people that don't need a shit load of ... prolegomena before you can say what you want to say--you can just TALK. That is beautiful. That is home. We have to cling to that. Maybe faithfulness looks like always being on the edge of tears, but I don't think it means being so jaded you forget that hope is the reason we're doing this at all. I think faithfulness means joy in the midst of overwhelming exhaustion we feel when looking at the Church.
I say all this to say, I hope you are encouraged by the fact that what you do matters. I am beginning to see where I am headed. I think there is a lot of pain in my future. I see it in the eyes of the teachers and mentors and friends I look up to. But too, I know that it’s worth it. I know the call matters. I know there is joy in the midst of the struggle. And we are not alone. We have each other. We must never forget we have each other.
Just some thoughts I wanted to share with someone who gets it.
K, I'm gonna sleep now. Hope that your morning/afternoon/evening is going well.
Also, this past week has made me understand why people smoke weed. Sometimes its nice to not have to think.
-Kylie
Today I learned that even though I say things about fighting the powers, and fighting injustice, and seeking peace, and all that good stuff... I'm missing a huge part. I forget to give grace to people that I don't see giving grace. And I forget to be friends with people that annoy me. And I forget those simple "love your neighbor" things. And then, I feel like one of those religion majors that thinks they've figured it out. I still need to learn to ask for humility. And remember that.... we're all just trying to figure it out, and we all have a lot to learn. And that is painful.
But I don't want to give up on joy. I think if we lose sight of that, then there too, we're doing something wrong. In the midst of "trying to figure it out", we have to remember that we aren't alone. There are people that "get it". There are people that don't need a shit load of ... prolegomena before you can say what you want to say--you can just TALK. That is beautiful. That is home. We have to cling to that. Maybe faithfulness looks like always being on the edge of tears, but I don't think it means being so jaded you forget that hope is the reason we're doing this at all. I think faithfulness means joy in the midst of overwhelming exhaustion we feel when looking at the Church.
I say all this to say, I hope you are encouraged by the fact that what you do matters. I am beginning to see where I am headed. I think there is a lot of pain in my future. I see it in the eyes of the teachers and mentors and friends I look up to. But too, I know that it’s worth it. I know the call matters. I know there is joy in the midst of the struggle. And we are not alone. We have each other. We must never forget we have each other.
Just some thoughts I wanted to share with someone who gets it.
K, I'm gonna sleep now. Hope that your morning/afternoon/evening is going well.
Also, this past week has made me understand why people smoke weed. Sometimes its nice to not have to think.
-Kylie
Bleeding heart?
I wonder what I think about this whole blogging thing. It isn't often that I feel like writing. (And call me crazy, but I feel like that's the primary reason for having a blog.) But every now and then, something will hit me. Usually its after a conversation with a friend, and suddenly it's as if the world comes into focus. Or, while I'm sitting in class, and I'm hit with a realization that will make me angry, or sad, or antsy, or excited. Or while I'm standing in a church service overcome with questions. Or when I'm with the people that get me, and that make me feel safe. It's at those points when I feel motivated to write.
I'm not great at things like being mellow. I'm passionate. If I like something, I want you to like it too. Don't ever take me to a nice restaurant, because I will force you to try whatever delicious thing I'm eating. I mean, I know you'd love it. When I meet someone that is smart or eccentric or inspiring or challenging, it's like I've never met anyone else. I want you to meet them, and fall in love with them too. When I learn something, it's impossible to not relate it to my life. It seeps into my conversations, and overwhelms my mind.
All this to say... the things I write about will be the things I'm feeling. And in my world, I can just say what I think. I don't have to give a chapter of prolegomena to make sure we're on the same page. I don't have to make sure I'm not being overly emphatic, or politically correct. I don't have to be tactful. I don't have to be scared I'm offending, or being inflammatory. I can just... talk. And I like to talk.
So yeah. I guess that's what I'll do. I'll talk. I don't know if everyone introduces their blog like this. But well, it seemed appropriate. So, I'll write. And if you'd like to read, I'd love to share my thoughts with you.
I'm not great at things like being mellow. I'm passionate. If I like something, I want you to like it too. Don't ever take me to a nice restaurant, because I will force you to try whatever delicious thing I'm eating. I mean, I know you'd love it. When I meet someone that is smart or eccentric or inspiring or challenging, it's like I've never met anyone else. I want you to meet them, and fall in love with them too. When I learn something, it's impossible to not relate it to my life. It seeps into my conversations, and overwhelms my mind.
All this to say... the things I write about will be the things I'm feeling. And in my world, I can just say what I think. I don't have to give a chapter of prolegomena to make sure we're on the same page. I don't have to make sure I'm not being overly emphatic, or politically correct. I don't have to be tactful. I don't have to be scared I'm offending, or being inflammatory. I can just... talk. And I like to talk.
So yeah. I guess that's what I'll do. I'll talk. I don't know if everyone introduces their blog like this. But well, it seemed appropriate. So, I'll write. And if you'd like to read, I'd love to share my thoughts with you.
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